THE PLACE OF THE SHOGGOTHS
By Michael Carter (C) 1998
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Primeval trees conceal the place
Where shoggoths breed and sleep;
With echoes of despondent mirth,
They wheeze and breathe beneath
The forest cowl where unknown fowl
Meander and where water
From the lively stream detours,
In pools of swarthy slaughter.
Amorphous, shapeless, squamous,
And the sounds that they project;
Like nothing else on the forest floor
That mans ears can detect.
Strange whistling and warbling
From the earth on which we stand;
How far below, men do not know,
This evil shows its hand!
It occurred just after sundown,
Before the great rains came –
And just as all His minions
Crawled out to praise his name.
I concealed myself in leaves of brown,
And shrieked in silent fear,
For the time when shoggoths lumbered forth
Was evidently here.
They caroused on the foliage,
And fumbled in the dark;
They formed a grotesque army
And the vanguard crossed the park
On which I lay, delirious,
Insanity gaining hold.
I knew that flight did beckon,
Or I would surely join their fold.
They rolled and slithered, crawled and crept,
A dreaded force of wrath;
And I begged hard to the Holy Ghost,
To protect me in his grasp.
Yet I had no time to await His rule,
So quickly took my flight,
Turning back just merely once
To glimpse them in the night.
I managed home, but whither they?
I can’t and will not guess;
And authorities, I’m certain,
That my tale will not impress.
But you perhaps, my friend and kin,
I can dissuade from such pain;
For shoggoths roam to their new home,
Perhaps in your domain.
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NOTE: This poem was originally published in “Cthulhu Cultus #12”, edited by P.Marsh of Florida, USA in 1998 or 1999[the magazine isn’t dated!]. That publication of the poem also owes a debt to James Ambuehl who passed it along to P.Marsh. Thanks guys.
I’m not big on poetry, I don’t really get most of it, but in my late teens and early twenties I wrote quite a lot of it. Most was of the depressing poor-old-me or precocious kind, some of it humorous, and a tiny bit was of a Lovecraftian bent. I think this latter was the best of all, has certainly stood up to the years better, though still clearly not the best poetry ever written. Now, 14 or so years after writing it, I think it has some nice rhythm and colourful imagery to it. If you’re unsure what a shoggoth is, it was one of H.P.Lovecraft’s monstrous and biologically-confusing creations. Google it for more details.
Thanks for reading my poem; hope you liked!
23/4/13